Reunited
by Bookworm Kate
Summary: Foyle's War - July 1946 - This story takes place during 'The Eternity Ring' (series 8, episode 1). Sam and Foyle come together again, finding things quite changed from the last time they saw each other. Sam/Foyle 'ship
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I haven't written and shared a fanfic for quite some time, so please forgive me as I do seem to ramble on a bit with this story. I recently watched this episode again, and it struck me how...controlled...the first meeting between the two characters appeared to be. I wanted to explore this new relationship between Foyle and Sam. So, here goes. Feedback is always appreciated.

As always, no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

July 1946

Former Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle stood staring at the theatre notice, taking in the small details even though he felt quite distracted. "I feel old," he said to himself. He was tired from days of travel, of wearing the same clothes, annoyed at not being able to go home when that was simply what he wanted to do, and most of all, irritated at being played.

He clucked his tongue and made a face at the poster on the wall of the theatre. They knew just what would get him to cooperate - not threats of extradition or punishment, but a photo. A specific photo with murmurs of dangers, espionage, treason. And here he was, suddenly in the middle of an investigation and not entirely sure he wasn't in a mess. How had they known? That would be Hilda Pierce, he thought ruefully after a moment. She had such a knack for reading people - why she was doing this job, of course.

So, now he stood in London, mixed up in a game he wasn't sure he could play, about to find the one person he had tried to forget. Well, he corrected himself, perhaps not forget, but certainly "alter ideas of." Foyle sighed heavily and forced himself to move forwards.

He studied the ground as he came around the corner of the theatre building, a bicycle bell tinkling a warning in case he should miss it whizzing past. Foyle looked up at the sound, and shook himself - "there is a job to do here," he told himself firmly under his breath.

He arrived in a large square and after a few moments he saw her. Wearing a red dress with a cardigan to keep away the chill of the wind, Samantha Wainwright stood looking rather bored next to two men. Foyle remembered her as she had been during the war years when they had worked together - Sam Stewart, MTC, cheeky, bright, and ever ready.

Foyle walked closer, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum. He forgot to breath. He had often wondered what it would be like to see her again, now married and older, but he hadn't been prepared for this. He stopped in his tracks, drinking in the view of her; he couldn't believe the change in Sam. She was looking down at the ground, as if waiting for one of the men. Her face was drawn and looked haggard, deep circles under her eyes. If the photo Hilda Pierce and her lot had shown him this morning was recent, then it certainly hadn't indicated this level of unhealthiness. His concern for her doubled in that moment, and he knew instinctively that he was not going to let this investigation go.

Suddenly, Foyle felt his stomach drop - she had seen him! They caught each other's eyes, and though he tried not to grin like a school boy, she did not smile until she had turned away from the two men. He heard her ask if she could take an early lunch. His smiled deepened - "Yes, I can take her to lunch, she would love that," he thought. Studying her as she walked towards him, he moved slowly forwards to greet her. Finally, she smiled broadly at him, and he saw the old Sam in front of him.

"Mr Foyle," she called out, "what are you doing here?" They had reached each other now and it was all Foyle could to stop himself from stretching out to touch her arm.

"I've come to see you," he said warmly, eyes twinkling a bright blue.

Sam smiled, "How did you know I was here?"

"Your husband." Foyle thought it felt odd saying that.

"Oh right. How was America? It seems such an age since you went away. So much has happened," said Sam, sounding slightly wistful.

Foyle scanned her face curiously and blatantly, "Well, you can tell me all about it." He inclined his head and she followed him.

Over lunch Foyle was able to study her more closely. He knew she could feel his eyes on her, and he only hoped she would open up a bit to him. Something was certainly wrong. Sam was picking at her food, which was something he had never seen her do in all the years he'd known her. He was inclined to feel even more worried.  
He ordered cups of tea, hoping it would restore her a bit. Sam spoke to him about Adam's bid for MP, where they had lived after the hotel had burnt down, and what they were doing these days. Foyle thought she seemed distinctly unhappy with life in London.

He was just about to say as much when a voice called out, "Ah, there you are Mrs Wainwright."

A tall man came over to their table bringing folders stuffed with papers. Sam quickly introduced the men, saying, "This is my former employer, Mr Foyle. Sir, this is Professor Frasier." The two men shook hands.

"So, what brings you to London, Mr Foyle?" asked Frasier.

"Well, um...friends," Foyle paused, catching Sam's eye and giving her a knowing look. She smiled slightly before he went on, "I'm just passing through really."

The three chatted briefly and Frasier was kind enough to invite Foyle to dinner for that evening. "Convenient," thought Foyle. Their cups of tea arrived and Frasier left them alone again. Sam was now studying him over the rim of her tea cup. She finally had a bit more colour in her face.

"I'm glad you found me, sir," she said shyly, "Nice to see a familiar face here."

Feeling he couldn't say, "I've missed you," or "I had to," or "I'm investigating your boss, so it's business really," he just simply smiled and resisted the impulse to pat her hand. He watched her gulp the rest of her tea and stand.

"I really must go now, sir. Thank you for lunch. You must come see Adam and I before you leave London."

He stood as well, "I will."

He watched her leave the restaurant, his heart feeling heavy. "Darling Sam," he murmured, "What have you got yourself into?"

The next few days were so busy that Foyle hardly had a moment to think. Therefore, it was a surprise when he came down one morning to find Sam at the reception desk of his hotel. As he came up behind her, he heard her say, "Do you have a Mr Foyle staying here?"

"They do," he said, "What are you doing here?" He smiled but his expression quickly changed once he saw her face.

She said, "I've been told you are investigating Professor Frasier and you used me to get to him, and I wanted to know if it was true." This came out very quickly and Foyle paused a moment before ushering her into the drawing room of the hotel.

He sat her down and pulled out a photograph. It showed her standing with a man in front of a theatre. He explained what the Security Services had been trying to figure out, and what they had assumed about the professor. Sam looked at the photograph indignantly, "But I've never met this man before in my life."

Setting the photograph on the table between them, Sam turned to Foyle, her voice now cutting him to the quick, "I don't understand why you didn't just come straight out with it when you first saw me - why didn't you show me the photograph if you suspected me."

Hearing the hurt in her words, Foyle replied softly, "I didn't...suspect you." Chewing his lip slightly he continued, "But it is clear to me, from the moment I saw you, that something is the matter. You're not yourself. There's something your hiding. I assumed it was related and thought it in your best interest to deal with the situation as carefully as I could."

He caught her eye, "I can see that I'm wrong and I'm sorry."

Sam's eyes filled with tears and she waved his apology away, "Don't be sorry."

"What is it?" Foyle asked gently.

"It's rather a personal thing, sir, and I really...I'd really rather not..." she wiped away the tears that suddenly streamed down her face.

"Can I help?" Foyle said, suddenly feeling rather worried.

"Nobody can help," Sam whispered, tears overwhelming her handkerchief and slipping down her cheeks.

Foyle quietly handed her his white hanky, hoping it was clean, and waited patiently.

"I've had some difficulty...something has happened that makes me believe starting a family might not be as straight forward as I once imagined."

Foyle swallowed hard, "What does Adam say?"

"I haven't told him yet," she sniffed, "So, now you know. I'm not a spy." Suddenly her sadness turned into indignation again. "I can't believe you used me and lost me my job!"

Foyle interjected quickly, "None of this was intended. The only reason I became involved was because I thought you were in trouble and I thought I could help."

He saw her eyes soften, though the look on her face was still fierce.

Continuing, he said, "And I still believe I can. Although you are completely innocent, this photograph has been faked - and for a reason. Don't you think?"

"Where do we start?" Sam said.

"Now, hang on," Foyle protested.

But she won in the end - "It's the least you can do, sir."

"Fair enough," sighed Foyle, smiling slightly.

They walked out of the hotel, Foyle touching the small of Sam's back as he let he go first. She turned to smile at him. Buoyed by this, he said softly, "I thought you looked unwell when I saw you a few days ago. But I see your spirit hasn't failed you. Just like old times, eh Sam?"

She looked at him, seeking his eyes, "It felt good to tell someone."

"I'm glad you could tell me. I was concerned for you."

"Yes, I understand that now. I was angry at first - I thought you were investigating me."

"Am I forgiven?" he asked, grinning.

Sam grinned back, some of her former radiance shining through, "We'll see."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The ensuing afternoon stripped away the months that had come between them, and it soon felt like their Hasting days: once again rushing about, trying to put two and two together. It went horribly wrong, however, when they arrived at the victim's flat. Men in masks had burst in, running rods over and around them that clicked furiously. Sam couldn't believe it when the men explained they were in danger from exposure from radiation. Sam and Foyle had been taken to a special doctor and told to wash thoroughly. Their clothes were taken away and they were both given rough cast offs from bits of different uniforms from the war.

Sam was mortified and begged to be let go - she was missing Adam's interview for local MP, and she knew it would let him down terribly.

"But I must go," she pleaded, "There is somewhere I have to be!"

"Not until you are cleared by the quack," the young man in uniform said, closing the door firmly.

Sometime later, after the doctor had kept her waiting for nearly an hour, Sam was cleared to leave. She glared at the door after the doctor went out, and felt her eyes pricking with tears of frustration. Things had been tense between her and Adam already lately, and this would really be the last straw. He had been so adamant that she needed to be there at this interview. Not that Sam felt she would be much help. She didn't know the first thing about politics and had only felt more and more alone as Adam was whisked away each day, campaigning. No money of course, so she was working to keep them both. In a way, it rankled, as she had always been told a husband would look after her. She didn't mind working, but she didn't feel looked after at all.

"Mr Foyle saw me for half a minute," she mused as she pulled on a pair of too big overalls, "And he knew something was up. Adam never seems to notice."

She immediately felt ungracious thinking that, though. Things at the beginning were always tough, weren't they? Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes, come in," she called, pinning up her hair as it tumbled away in long curls.

Foyle's head came around the door and she heard him breath in sharply. He cleared his throat, "Er, has the doctor seen you?"

"Yes, sir - you?"

"Yes, cleared for duty." He came all the way in, leaving the door open. He was in a tan shirt, most likely from an army uniform, with brown braces holding up a pair baggy trousers. He stood very straight, looking slightly uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothes. He held a khaki, army issue jacket in his hands. Sam felt her pulse quicken.

"You all right?" he asked.

Sam nodded, which loosened a bit of hair. She saw his eyes watching it as it fell down her shoulder and across her breast, and she blushed - not with embarrassment but with pleasure. She'd forgotten what it felt like to have a man's eyes appraise and appreciate. Meeting his gaze, she asked, "What have they done with our clothes?"

"Burnt them, I'm afraid."

"What!?" Sam looked horrified. She didn't have many clothes to begin with, and now hardly any money to spend on new ones.

Foyle seemed to read her mind, and said soothingly, "I think we can convince the Service to get us some decent replacements."

"I jolly well hope so," said Sam, feeling put out. Foyle said nothing, but continued to watch her, as if waiting for her to speak her mind.

"I've missed Adam's interview," she stated, picking at a loose thread. "Fine mess you've gotten us into," she added petulantly.

Foyle looked at her calmly, raising one eyebrow.

Then Sam said softly, "Do you know, I'm not sure I even care. Isn't that awful?"

If Foyle was surprised, he didn't show it, but merely listened quietly, watching her face intently.

"Things keep going wrong, and suddenly you are here, accusing me of being a spy, and I lose my job...and Adam doesn't seem to notice anything unless it's politics...and how will we pay the rent now? I can't seem to do anything right. I can't keep a job...can't keep a b- ...But...you're back...you're here, so everything should be right, and yet it isn't..." Sam faltered, not quite meeting Foyle's eye this time.

He was beside her in two strides and she jumped when she heard the door click shut. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat.

"I'm here," Foyle said simply, catching her hand, holding it tightly in his. He saw her tears, and felt guilty for making her cry twice in one day.

"I didn't think you were a spy - really, Sam." His voice sounded slightly incredulous.

His other hand went instinctively to brush away her tears. "Do you want to know what I think? I think you are the bravest young women I've ever met. You astonish me at every turn. You have survived a war and you are making your way in life. You are bright, ever so hard working, Sam, so caring, so lovely. I know you realise life isn't easy, but you have a spirit that will not be broken, and I know you will overcome this rough period."

Foyle pulled her close and felt her chin nestle into his shoulder; smelled the carbolic soap. He felt the shudders of sobs rise and fall in her chest and whispered, "My hanky was burnt, unfortunately, so a sleeve will have to do."

She half laughed and half sobbed and he patted her back, rocking slightly and holding her tight against him. "Dear Sam. I would do anything to make it all better. To protect you and bring the sunshine back into your life - but I can't. It is something you must do for yourself. It is your life."

She murmured, "But I'm nearly thirty, and I've messed it all up."

"Have you? Maybe things happen as they do because they are meant to be." Foyle sighed, "I'm not sure. But - " he paused, "I am sure of this: I'm glad to be here with you, to see you again. I...I...well...I" he stopped.

Sam had stiffened and pulled her head back to look at him. They were so close - closer than they'd ever been before. She could see the stubble forming on his cheeks. There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes as he stared, unable to speak for the lump that had grown in his throat.

Her fingers grasped Foyle's borrowed braces, holding on for dear life, "You are right, sir. Things do happen for a reason, don't they. Like today - I didn't make Adam's interview because I was meant to be here with you."

Foyle found his voice, "I'm not sure that...that wasn't what I meant, you know. Do you really think..." he stopped again, for once eloquence eluding him in this unfamiliar territory.

He cleared his voice, picking his words carefully, "Look, I don't want to get rounded up by the service and debriefed just now - I want to talk with you properly without fear of interruption."

He took one of her hands gently in his own and pulled her towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel, get something to eat and have a good long chat."

Sam just nodded and followed, allowing him to guide her back to where they had begun that very morning.

Walking through London in the late afternoon had a strangely calming effect on them both. Anonymous in the crowds of bustling humanity, the awkwardness that would have otherwise descended upon them slipped away. Foyle kept her hand firmly in his, and no one spared them a glance. Each person on the street was in their own world, and for the first time, Foyle didn't feel self conscious. He was looking after Sam, and that's all that mattered. Subconsciously, he had seen the look in her eyes - she hadn't been able to mask it. He hoped he'd been able to. It both frightened and exhilarated him.

Foyle hailed a cab as soon as he saw one, and he put Sam in first. Luckily, Hilda Pierce had replaced some of the things that he'd had in his pockets, money being one of them. They sat crushed together in the cab as it drove them to the hotel. Foyle's entire right side burned and tingled where it touched the length of Sam. He did not move away, but mentally began to calm himself, chewing his lip. Instead of letting his thoughts get the better of him, he thought pragmatically about the next steps. He rubbed his chin as he realised he would have to telephone Adam Wainwright.

They hadn't said a word the entire trip, nor had Foyle released Sam's hand. Once at the hotel, Foyle finally broke the silence, "I have a sitting room attached to my, um, well, would you come upstairs? I'll send for some tea."

Sam nodded, and followed him.

Foyle noticed the contented curl of her lip and the ease of which she moved with him. The hotel lobby was loud and busy, and no one noticed them. Perhaps the fates are with us, Foyle mused to himself. He said softly, "I'll meet you on the first floor landing; I'll just get they key."

Leaving her side briefly, he retrieved his key from the harried receptionist, and raced up the steps with a youthful bound. He resisted the urge to take her hand again once he found her in the corridor. Sam kept finding his eyes - she had a wonderful tendency to sink into the blue of them, to melt into them, as if she knew what he was thinking. It made Foyle shiver with a pleasant awareness.

Unlocking the door, he ushered her in. He pointed to the bathroom, "You can freshen up if you like." He paused, "I need to make a telephone call."

Sam nodded dutifully, still not saying a word. It was the quietest Foyle had ever known her to be, and in other circumstances he would be concerned. This time, however, he understood. She was taking it all in. It had been a shocking day. He realised he was being extremely bossy.

"But she needs that just now," he reasoned. He picked up the telephone and was soon put through to the Wainwright residence.

"Wainwright," an anxious voice said.

"Adam, Christopher Foyle here."

"Mr Foyle, thank God - have you seen Sam at all? She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth and - "

Foyle interrupted, "Yes, she's here with me." He heard Adam sigh in relief. "She's fine. A bit of shock - unfortunately got caught up in the work I'm doing here in London and- "

This time Adam interrupted, "Can she come home? I want to speak with her. She missed my interview and I jolly well think I've lost the candidacy now. Wives are meant to be by their husband's side you know, and well, typical Sam, she's left me in the lurch. What on earth were you doing, getting her mixed up in your business?"

Foyle's voice went icy, "It was unintentional, I assure you."

He cleared his throat and continued, hating the fib he was about to tell, "We had a dose of radiation exposure. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. But the Security Services want to keep us isolated and run some tests. I can't be sure when they'll let us go."

"Right." Adam sounded put out. "So, she's all right then? Really, Sam gets into the most peculiar trouble."

Foyle glared at the ceiling and stopped short of rolling his eyes, "Yes."

"Do you know, Mr Foyle, whenever you and Sam are near each other, some disaster happens. She goes off like a puppy, following your every move and usually gets herself into some mess. Her father always said so, and some of the stories she's told me...You should bloody well leave her alone. Leave us alone."

Foyle understood Adam had every right to be angry with him. Sam was his, Adam's, wife after all. But Foyle disliked the young man even more than before, and if not for the telephone between them, would have gladly throttled him.

"Yes, well, that's not up to me, quite frankly. Sam's been pulled into this investigation, whether any of us like it or not. Look, you can discuss this with her later. She's in safe hands for now."

"I'm sure," Adam replied, a hint of jealousy in the edge of his voice. "Goodbye." He rang off, leaving Foyle looking at the receiver with some anger. His opinion of Adam Wainwright was dropping with each breath.

He heard a movement behind him.

"Not exactly a sitting room, sir."

Foyle and Sam both burst out laughing. Setting themselves into armchairs that stood in front of the tiny gas heater, Foyle looked around. She was right of course, Foyle conceded. A bed, night stand, small desk and chair, wardrobe and the two armchairs made up the room, leaving it fairly cramped. It overlooked the back of the hotel, which had a surprisingly pleasant garden.

Sam had found her voice, and began asking questions. "Why did you ring Adam? I could have done that. And why the fib about the Security Services keeping us?"

"I apologise, it was presumptuous of me, Sam. I was just trying to think of all the necessities. Of course you may go straight home, but I thought perhaps talking things over might first might help."

"Is he annoyed with me?"

Foyle twitched his lips, "Well...you'll need to speak with him eventually. I think he was just anxious."

"You know, sir, it hasn't been...easy...between Adam and I lately. I think this was really the last thing."

Foyle said, "I'm sorry you became involved."

Frowning, Sam waved it away, "No, no need." She continued, "He's the type of person who likes to make big plans, but hardly ever is able to see them through. And then, of course, he blames someone else for that. Which, these days, is me. I don't know why I didn't see it before. Suppose I was taken in by the charm and grand ideas. It sounded good at the end of the war, you see, sir, something to cling to."

Foyle nodded, narrowing his eyes, "It doesn't mean it is your fault though. Forgive me asking...er...Do you love him?"

Sam looked slightly surprised at the question, "Well. I thought I did. Now, I realise I loved the idea of it all."

"Is it why you choose not to mention what happened to you - what you told me this morning?"

"I suppose so. I felt it would be something I would be blamed for again. My ... inadequacy." Sam's voice broke slightly, and Foyle bit his lip, cursing bloody Adam Wainwright with all his heart.

"Again, Sam, it isn't your fault. I know it feels like that, but please trust me when I say it isn't." He looked at her earnestly and with such clear eyes, that Sam felt a warmth spread through her. Her shoulders relaxed, and she felt able to speak about all the things that had troubled her since Foyle had left for America.

They spoke for over an hour, and Foyle could see the years slipping from her face as she opened up. Hearing her tummy growl with hunger, Foyle got up and picked up the telephone, ordering tea to be sent up.

"With extra scones, please," he said into the receiver, winking at Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: FYI: This chapter is M-rated. Just a heads up in case it isn't your thing.

* * *

Chapter 3

Sam giggled when Foyle winked at her from behind the telephone receiver, having never seen him do that before. It was incredibly endearing, and she watched his movements, enjoying the effortlessness and grace . Everything seemed different now.

From the moment she had seen Foyle across the square a few days ago, her mind had been a whirl. It had been so strange to see him again. All at once she was very happy, filled with trepidation, and sad. It was confusing, and it frightened her to admit to herself why. She knew deep down - had perhaps always known - but she had never said it to herself.

And Foyle had calmed her fears; said the right things and taken charge of her well-being in such a way that she felt literally swept off her feet. The closeness of that moment that they had shared, and the brief unmasking of his eyes when she had seen her own self mirrored there, had opened up a new world. Sam had been so close to drowning in those eyes, and she knew not what she might do next. It had felt so right. And that was when she had seen the fear. He too had recognised himself in her own eyes.

Sam knew with a conviction from somewhere deep inside, that they felt the same about each other and both were too afraid to say it. And fair enough, Sam had told herself during the cab ride, I'm a married woman and he was once my boss. But the taste of marriage to Adam lay bitter on her tongue, and the loss she felt within herself, in addition the disappointment she could already envision on Adam's face left her clinging to Foyle like a lifeline.

Not only had Foyle guided her here with every decent intention, even that she could see, but she had felt pushed along by some unseen force. It was meant to be - "I was meant to be here today," she kept telling herself. Seeing Foyle bound up the stairs to find her had filled her with such a sense of certainty, that she nearly laughed with the joy of it. And hearing him fight her battle with Adam, a battle she should have taken on, was the last assurance that she was right. It was indeed, meant to be, and how silly they had both been - it had been there all along.

It was only then that Sam realised she hadn't spoken the entire time and the first thing that came to mind was the ridiculous notion of what Foyle had called a "sitting room."

She felt grateful that they had talked - not only was she able to get quite a bit off her chest, Sam at least knew Foyle was on her side. Not that she had doubted that for a moment. Now the real challenge lay ahead of her.

The tea arrived and they both tucked in gratefully. After at least four scones, Sam felt restored, and she spoke, resting her tea cup on her knee. "Are you willing to discuss it?"

She looked at Foyle keenly, knowing that even if he wasn't, they would have to. "It was meant to be," she said to herself once again. Though Sam might have meant anything by the question, she knew that he had understood.

Foyle placed his tea cup back on the tray before answering. He looked uncomfortable. "Don't you think it would be best left unspoken?"

"No, not at all." The certainty with which she said it, surprised Foyle, and he glanced at her, aware of a change.

"Right." He chewed his lip, wondering for a moment. "I don't know what to say, really. Except, er, it would be entirely inappropriate, and I'm, um, too old."

Sam snorted, "Oh yes?" She paused, realising how difficult this was for him. Softening, she continued, "This has been building for many years, even you could concede to that?"

When Foyle looked as if he were about to deny it, she said, "Why say what you did on the telephone, if not? Why bring me here? It has always been more than -"

Foyle cut in, "Yes, but it shouldn't have." Again, he looked uncomfortable, "You were my driver for goodness sake. I had a responsibility to keep you out of harm's way."

Sam broke in, "And are you saying you are dangerous?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Foyle had the impression she was teasing him, but he said firmly, "No, but I respect you, and it should never be more than that."

"Why not? I am no longer your driver."

"You are a married women!" Foyle jutted out his chin indignantly, frustration nipping at his words.

Sam huffed, "I'm in a loveless marriage - we just don't get on and I realised it too late. It's easily sorted."

Foyle looked at her in astonishment. He realised a lot of what they felt was in between the lines, muddied over by years of denial. This was the last thing he had expected - he never dreamed Sam would feel the same as he himself did or that they would be sat here, in his "sitting room" discussing it. It was unthinkable. He tried not to gape at her.

"Why did you really go to America?"

Trying to find his voice, Foyle mumbled, "Unfinished business."

Sam arched an eyebrow, disbelieving him.

Almost inaudibly, Foyle answered with a sigh, "To let you get on with life. To let you and Adam start a life together. I ... I didn't want to be in the way."

"I see," Sam said slowly. "So you knew?"

"N- not entirely," Foyle said. "I knew how I felt - which was entirely inappropriate, so I felt it best to remove myself from the situation. It was easier for all of us."

"Was it though?" Sam wondered aloud.

Foyle said nothing, looking slightly miserable.

After a moment, Sam added, "And going back to your earlier argument - as for you being too old, don't be ridiculous. We've survived a war that has changed the world. What does it matter?"

Foyle, still looking at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, tried to reply coherently, "Matter, why of course it matters, you are young, should be going out, dancing to all hours, living a full life..."

"War has aged me, beyond even what I can fully realise," Sam said, her voice firm. She set her now cold tea down. "And as for a full life - what I'm living now certainly isn't a full life. Life with you, however, could be."

She looked at Foyle with such fervour that he felt his eyes prick with tears. He took her hand and focused hard on the rather ugly painting on the wall until the feeling subsided. The feel of her hand beneath his gave him the ability to be brave.

"Darling Sam. I couldn't have made it without you, you know."

Sam smiled cheekily, "I know. Can't go anywhere without me, right, sir?"

Foyle chuckled and reached for her other hand. He said quietly, almost to himself, "But it is unthinkable...isn't it mad?"

"War was mad, the world we live in is certainly mad, why not go along with that theme?" Sam replied, making him smile.

He still couldn't grasp that she was so sure about it all. "But what will people think?"

Again Sam snorted, "Since when did you care what other people thought?"

"But your reputation, and - "

"Let me worry about that. Look, the main thing is, would you be happy?"

"Ye - yes, but I'm worried you wouldn't be." He didn't dare look at her.

"I jolly well would be happy, I'd have you."

Foyle welled up again slightly at this, and Sam made the decision for him. She went to him, kneeling by his armchair and pulling him to her. His hands lost themselves in her unruly blond curls.

Letting her lips trace his jawline, she whispered, "We've been awfully silly about it, haven't we? It's always been there, hasn't it? Six years of ignoring it is really far too long, you know."

Finally, Foyle admitted it, to her and to himself, with an earth shattering, "Yes."

They found each other's lips like ships to a beacon; the last six years melted into that moment. It was like coming home. Foyle was still tentative but Sam kissed him with all her passion, drawing gasps from the man in her arms.

"You'd better call me Christopher," he murmured.

Sam giggled, murmuring back, "Yes, sir."

He growled playfully in her ear, pulling her up to stand with him. She had her hands around his neck, one finger toying with the greying curls there. They stared at each other. Foyle saw his old Sam in front of him, cheeks flushed with life and joy. And Sam saw the man who had always been her stalwart friend and daily companion.

They had perhaps each filled necessity early on; policeman and driver, partners on the trail of crime, teacher and student - which turned into companionship, loyalty, trust and eventually love. It had been strange times, what with war raging across the Channel and the home front wracked with hardships, so an unlikely friendship was no more odd than anything else they had encountered. After the war, the world was reeling and everything was different. But only now those possibilities had collided, revealing what had always been there.

"I love you, Sam."

"As do I - I love you, Christopher." She let his name roll around her tongue, enjoying the feel of it. "Christopher. Christopher. Chri - "

Foyle crushed her lips, discovering that Sam saying his name was incredibly arousing. It was his turn to unleash his passion and soon Sam came up gasping for air. She found the braces again, this time pulling him to her to meld their bodies. She was tingling all over and willed Foyle's hands to explore.

Again, he seemed to read her mind and traced his fingertips down her spine, cupping her bottom and pulling her even closer. She felt his arousal and opened her mouth in a gasp of desire that shot through her. Foyle quickly took advantage of that moment and slipped his tongue inquisitively inside. The passion that such a move released inside them both left them leaning against the wardrobe, breath ragged and chests heaving.

"W- we r- really shouldn't be doing this," Foyle panted, "I know it isn't easy...but if you ask me to stop, I will. I wouldn't dream of putting your honour at risk."

"Don't stop," Sam said huskily, "Don't you dare. We both want this, and that's the end of it. It is meant to be, Christopher."

Not another word was said on the matter. It was meant to be - they both knew it, they believed it, and it was years of acquiescence of "never," coming to a head. Sam was still in her too big overalls, and Foyle was able to free her of it with one delightful zip.

He shrugged off his braces, helping her to pull off his shirt. The muscles of his arms and chest rippled with the movement and Sam immediately ran her hands all over them, savouring their shape and strength. Her fingers intertwined with his chest hair. "So strong," she murmured.

"All the better to carry you with," he replied, suddenly picked her up and carrying her to the bed. He gazed at her once he had set her gently down. She looked at him in amazement, "I say, that was..." she couldn't find the word, but the look in her eyes made Foyle weak at the knees.

"Darling Sam, you are so beautiful." Leaning in, Foyle nuzzled her neck, tickling and teasing with his tongue.

His hands were occupied with her breasts and before she knew it she had been stripped of her undergarments. She felt his fingers find her wet warmth and she threw her head back with a gasp of pleasure.

Foyle's lips were at her ear again, "Are you quite all right, my love?"

Sam moaned back a response, nails digging into his back.

"Is it all right for me...I mean, are you quite well enough?" Foyle faltered.

Reaching down, Sam guided his fingers in again, "I should jolly well hope so." She smiled against his kiss and found his trouser buttons. Foyle practically ripped them off and lay the length of her, enjoying the feel of her beneath him.

She felt his arousal against her own trembling body and her back arched, inviting his fingers in deeper. Tracing his tongue down along the hills of her breasts, the wide plain of her tummy, to the cave of warmth he sought, he slipped his tongue inside of her. Sam gripped his head, handfuls of hair beneath her hands. He felt the tremor of her trembling increase and applied more pressure with an expert finger.

He nearly lost himself in her cry of pleasure, but drew himself back from the brink. Sam felt she could hardly breath, and pulled him next to her, panting heavily. She pushed him back against the pillows, taking in every inch of this wonderful man.

She leaned over him, conveying some of her own expertise. Foyle stopped her sharply, and assured her quickly it was nothing she had done wrong. "If you do that a minute longer I won't be any more use to you," he gasped.

Sam giggled and Foyle sat up, growling in her ear, "Lovely girl that you are."

She moved to straddle him, and found his lips. "I want you, Christopher, all of you."

She hesitated above him.

"Sam." He caught her eyes and held them in his gaze.

And they melted together, fitting much like a key to its lock. Foyle reached places inside her that she hadn't been aware of, creating a climax like she had never experienced. They moved together with all the beauty of dancers - a dance that soon left them spent and shaking from the delirium of fulfilment.

Wrapping themselves up in each others arms and pulling the sheets over to keep the air from chilling their sweating bodies, they lay smiling and whispering before sleeping deep and dreamlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Foyle woke to the sounds of incessant chirping outside the window. He wondered where he was for a moment, curious as to why he felt years younger. Looking around the room bathed in the half light of the cloudy morning, his eyes caught a small movement next to him. He grinned, turning carefully onto his side to quietly contemplate her. His darling Sam.

The dark circles from under her eyes had disappeared, her stress lines smoothed and cheeks glowing. He could see how she had aged from when he had first met her - goodness it seemed so long ago now. Samantha Stewart...how she had surprised them all at the station and become such a wonderful addition. Brightness seemed to radiate from her, even then, and Foyle knew that it was she who had allowed him to make it through the war years. Her selflessness and compassion towards others, like Milner and Andrew, had made him respect her all the more. "We really came to rely on each other in the end, didn't we?" Foyle mused.

Foyle was also aware that, as a self respecting man, he should be very ashamed of himself. Having inappropriate relations with a young woman in his hotel room, what on earth was he thinking? Had it been his intention? Recalling what he had said to Adam on the telephone, he tried to be honest with himself - he had fibbed about the Security Services needing to keep them - that was a sure sign of the wrongness of this.  
He closed his eyes tightly against the feeling.

"What have I done?" he groaned inwardly, "I've made this worse for her."

He lay back, now staring at the ceiling. "But I do love her," he said to himself. What they did from here would need to be Sam's choice, he decided. He could live without her, let her go back to her husband to start again - if it was for the best, he would try his damnedest.

He worried that Sam would be ashamed, and wondered if she felt regret. Foyle sighed deeply, and jumped slightly when he felt an arm snaking over his chest, pulling the two of them closer.

"Hallo, you," Sam said huskily, smiling up at him.

"Good morning," Foyle smiled back.

They snuggled in together, shifting to get comfortable. Foyle's mind was whirling and he tried to think of a way to begin. He asked, "How are you?"

"Better than ever," Sam said warmly. She nuzzled against his neck, breathing him in.

Foyle froze, battling with his mind to stop his body from responding. In mild panic, he whispered, "We need to speak."

Sam shifted, looking up at him, "Oh dear, I know that voice."

Chewing his lip, Foyle glanced at her, "I'm not sure what I'm feeling - I should feel ashamed; I've not treated you respectfully or behaved at all appropriately."

Sam looked slightly confused, "Do you regret it?"

"Not at all - I should, perhaps. I'm just worried I've made things more difficult for you. You are a married woman, and well, this just isn't done."

"You mustn't always be so upright, Christopher - you were the pinnacle of respectability. If anything, this is my doing, and you shouldn't feel you've done anything wrong." Sam paused, then sat up to look at him properly. "I know this isn't the best way we might have begun things. And of course, you are right as always, but I shouldn't like you to feel you were to blame."

Foyle didn't say anything, but continued to worry his lower lip.

"What do you want to do?" he asked finally. "I will support your decision, no matter what, even if it means we never see each other again. I want what is best for you."

Sam looked indignant, "And you think us never seeing each other is what is best?"

"I didn't say that, Sam," Foyle said slowly. "I want the decision, whatever it may be, to be yours."

"You doubt me?"

Her face fell, and Foyle thought about all the hurt he was causing her.

Sitting up, he touched her face, "I'll love you, no matter what. I always, and only, ever want the best for you."

She said without hesitation, "Then the decision is simple. I want to make a life with you. To start again with you."

Tears came to both their eyes, and Foyle pulled her to him. "Are you sure?"

Sam gave him a small punch, "Yes, you silly, I jolly well am."

"Then," Foyle said with a solemn face, streaked with tears long overdue, "I promise to love you and look after you. I admire you ever so much Sam, and if I can make you happy, then I too shall be happy."

"Good," Sam grinned at him, "So now that's settled, can we have breakfast?"

As she tried to make the overalls look a bit more presentable, she heard Foyle clear his throat. "I think I'll go down first and get a car organised."

Sam nodded, "I will be right down."

She understood that leaving together might not look acceptable, though she didn't entirely care what the hotel guests thought. She heard the door click as she put the last unruly curl under a pin. The silence of the room seemed to wave over her.

It was slightly overwhelming, all that happened in the last day, but she had no doubts. The matter of Adam could be dealt with easily enough in legal terms, but she knew it would hurt him, or at least his pride. "If only I had listened to my gut all that time ago," she thought.

In the bathroom she checked her appearance, surprised by the difference in her face. The determination there gave her confidence. She thought back to the previous night, remembering the feel of the man she would never have believed could love her against her skin. The way he felt inside of her, the caress of his lips, and the hunger she felt from him came rushing back, causing her cheeks to glow in warm remembrance. She wanted him, and wished he hadn't gone downstairs.

She put the light out and pulled the door closed behind her, smiling to herself. She felt the years sliding off her shoulders, and a new spring in her step caused one guest on the stairs to smile knowingly.

When she came down into the lobby she looked around for Foyle, wondering where he might be. Her heart stopped when she saw him standing to one side, deep in conversation with Adam.

She walked towards the two men, feet suddenly feeling like lead.

"Adam."

The young man looked over, pushing past Foyle. "Sam, my God, are you all right? I've been so worried."

Sam all at once felt guilty, and didn't dare look at Foyle over Adam's shoulder. "I'm fine, really, Adam. I'm sorry about yesterday, but -"

He pulled her into an embrace, "Well, I'm glad you are all right. And don't worry about that, they rang this morning to say I have got the candidacy after all, so you haven't spoiled anything."

Sam's lips went into a thin hard line, and she moved away from him, "Right. Well done, Adam, that's brilliant of you." She couldn't think of what next to say, and was spared when Foyle walked over.

"There is a car out front that can take you both home," he said.

Sam looked at him desperately as Adam put his arm around and pulled her away. Foyle nodded as if to say, "You can do this."

When the two had disappeared from view, Foyle rubbed his forehead and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

A week had passed since Foyle had seen Sam. There had been a small note delivered to the hotel that read simply, _"Getting it sorted. Feeling a bit beastly, but it will soon be over. Missing you and will come to you soon. Hope you are all right. Love you, Your Sam."_

He wished he could go to her and help her, but knew that this was between the young couple. After speaking to Hilda Pierce, he secured a secretarial position for Sam. "Least I can do in the circumstances," he'd said to her.

Hilda Pierce had fixed him with such a knowing look that Foyle felt distinctly uncomfortable before the woman had smiled kindly.

"She'll need someone to stand by her," Pierce said, and left the matter there.

So, it was nearly ten days before Foyle saw Sam again. He saw her listening to one of the other MI5 secretaries, Charlotte, looking slightly overwhelmed. She did, however, look much brighter and healthier, and though this should have been a difficult time for her, the lines of worry didn't quite meet her eyes. "She looks positively radiant," Foyle mused to himself.

He called out across the room of typists, interrupting Charlotte's instructions. "Mrs Wainwright, could I see you for a moment?"

Sam's face lit up, though she tried hide her broad smile. She followed Foyle to his cramped office and closed the door softly. When she turned around she found herself in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just had to see you, to speak with you. Are you all right?"

Sam laughed softly in his ear, "This working with you will be a bit trickier than I imagined...sir."

She laughed again, "I'm fine, Christopher. Adam is behaving better than I think either of us would have believed. _Gracious_ is perhaps the word I'm looking for. Any way, it will take some time, but he's agreed to everything. I've been staying in the spare room, but now I think I can come to you. The worst is over and he's not been unreasonable."

Foyle asked, "How did he take the news of us?"

Sam stiffened slightly, "Not well, really. He wanted to knock you up and give you a piece of his mind, but I convinced him he wasn't thinking clearly. He's no match for you anyway. He said some pretty rotten things, but it will soon be over. I nearly wasn't able to come work here with you, but in the end, as I say, he being fairly level headed."

Foyle nodded and rubbed her arm.

Sam continued in a softer voice, "It's been rough, Christopher. The solicitor explained it all, so what we must do is clear now. But of course, I am at fault, so unfortunately I rather get the short end of it."

Foyle swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed. He dropped his arms and took a slight step back. He felt dismayed that Sam was having to go through all this...for him. "I should have realised, Sam...mmmy fault."

Sam closed the gap he had created between them, "Nevermind," she said with a small smile.

Some relief crept into Foyle's eyes, but he remained unmoving. "Sam, I want us to always be honest with each other."

He sighed, "I have always worried that our ages would be something difficult to overcome. I worry that you will be left on your own when we are older and I die first. I love you, I want to have a life with you, but only if it is something you want and if you understand entirely what it means I am asking of you."

Taking his chin in her hand, Sam tilted his face towards hers. Looking directly into his eyes, she replied with a firm, clear voice, "Christopher Foyle, I love you. I love you so deeply that it hurts. I love you so much that I do not care what anyone thinks, not Adam, nor my parents, nor Andrew; I only care what you think. I love you so completely, that I would spend as many years as God grants us together rather than waste a moment more."

Sam paused, taking a breath, adding in a slightly husky tone, "I want a life with you, I want as many children as we agree on, and I realise I'm sounding very greedy, but I want you. I want you every day of the week and twice on Sundays."

She made this speech quickly, and Foyle reeled for a moment taking it all in. The worry disappeared. In front of him stood a woman he had loved at a distance for so many years, and she cared for him so deeply that she was promptly divorcing her perhaps more socially suitable husband, opening her already vulnerable self to his doubts, and taking it all in such shrewd stride that he felt slightly breathless.

Leaning his forehead against hers, Foyle gave his lopsided smile. He said softly, "Sam, know I never doubted you, but myself. I felt I'd pushed you into this too soon, that perhaps you would have had a change of heart...I dunno."

He stopped, and pulled her into his arms properly. "I feel I've asked a lot of you, Sam. I'm sorry. Just know I am here to stick by you through it all."

She kissed him lightly, "I know you are. I couldn't do it if you weren't. I ask and expect more of myself than you do of me, so don't worry."

He nuzzled her neck comfortingly, and they came to a better understanding than they had previously imagined.

"Can this door be bolted?" Sam asked suddenly, a hint of laugher behind her words.

Foyle cocked an eyebrow, "Really, Sam..."

Not quite knowing what was coming over him lately, Foyle moved to the door. He quickly checked, realising it could indeed be bolted from the inside, and turned to Sam with a hiss, "We can't possib-" he faltered, his mouth dropping.

Sam had sat herself seductively and comfortably on the top of his desk, and with a mischievous grin, said, "Oh dear, Mr Foyle, I think I need your help."

He was with her in a second, murmuring, "Oh yes?", all decency and propriety left behind.

"Well, do you know, sir, I rather think I've lost a button. Awfully clumsy of me I know. Hadn't we better check?" She guided his hands over her breast and he smiled down at her in amusement.

"I will not take you on His Majesty's property, tempting though it may be."

"What a shame...I'm sure he wouldn't mind..."

His hands trembled slightly as he traced her curves and lines. He paused, looking over her shoulder as if remembering something.

"_Twice_ on Sundays, eh?"

She grinned at him cheekily, "If you can stand it..._sir_..."

Foyle murmured throatily in her ear, and she had to suppress a giggle.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

On a Thursday in late summer, Foyle lingered at the open window in his office, hearing the roar of London, but unable to see it. Rather like how he felt about this most recent case: aware of the problem of Karl Strasser, but unable to see - how to have made a way forward without going behind Hilda Pierce's back? The Americans were happy, the Security Services were not.

In all the months he had been stuck here in London, Foyle had only been down to his home in Hastings once. Everything was still as he had left it, though now covered with fine layers of dust. He all at once longed to be there again, to find peace and solitude in the cawing of the seagulls and the fresh sea air. To be away from the murk of the Service and the hustle that was London.

After the Americans had taken custody of Strasser at the airfield, he and Sam had driven away, leaving a rather flustered Hilda Pierce behind. Foyle had uncharacteristically slid into the back of the car, worrying his lip, deep in thought.

Sam had asked, "Where to?"

Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, she held back her questions, suddenly realising just how grave he looked.

"Good question," Foyle replied, leaving it at that.

They had gone back to the small flat the Service had organised for Foyle, quiet and dejected. Sam was staying in a boarding house not far away, but they often ate together before he walked her home. It was a boarding house run by the Service, so late comings and goings, or not showing up at all, went unnoticed and unmentioned. It suited them perfectly, and more often lately Sam had stayed, despite Foyle's mild protests about decency and "the done thing". As Sam had pointed out, they were rather past that. In London, they seemed to live an anonymous life, and some things appeared to no longer matter.

After a silent tea, and with no response to Sam's gently inquiring kisses on the back of his neck, she had thrown the tea towel down in frustration and said, "I hate it when you're like this, Christopher. Let me try to help, at least."

He'd stood and said harshly, "Let me be, Sam. For once, let me be," before stalking into the bedroom. Sam hadn't said a word, and though he had expected her to come to him again - to try and open him up, she hadn't. She had, instead, left quietly.

It was only now, standing here in the office that he felt regret at his harshness. He wished Sam _had_ tried to make him talk about what he was thinking. He wasn't used to sharing his thoughts so easily anymore, and he felt a pang of guilt.

"I mustn't push her away," he said to himself, chewing his lip and listening to London below.

Foyle decided then and there, that what he needed most was to get away. Sam's divorce from Adam had come through, they were practically living together, they worked together, and yet he felt so distant. From his darling Sam, from his home, his son, and yes, even himself. He no longer understood why he was here, and felt an urgent desire to get away.

Walking briskly into the secretaries' room, he called out to Charlotte. She came over with an ever radiant smile and eyes that hinted at her underlying cleverness.

"Charlotte, I'm going back to Hastings for the weekend. I'll need Mrs Wainwright to drive me down tomorrow, so she won't be in either."

Sam had kept the name for now, though the Service knew exactly what had occurred. Foyle had once hinted they probably even knew precisely what _they_ were getting up to.

Charlotte tried to keep her face passive as she replied, "Of course, Mr Foyle."

"Thank you. If Valentine or Ms Pierce need me, they will have to drag me away."

He added as an afterthought, "Haven't fished my river in months, you know. The trout will be getting too confident for their own good."

She smiled back at him, "Good luck, sir."

Foyle collected his hat and stopped at Sam's desk. She wasn't there - "Probably hunting down a file...or sniffing out a biscuit," he thought fondly, hoping she wasn't too angry with him. He left a note, tucked under one corner of the typewriter. It read:

_Mrs Wainwright - Mr Foyle requires your presence tomorrow, Friday, in  
order to drive him to Hastings. Please be ready by 8am._

"If they want to make up their theories about that, well then let 'em," he thought, straightening his tie.

When Sam came into the flat much later that evening, she found Foyle sitting comfortably behind a cracked teapot.

Tentatively she said, "A weekend by the seaside, Christopher?"

"Good, you got the note."

She stuck her head around the door frame, looking at him quizzically, "Temporary or ...?"

"Yes, for now."

"Good, I can do with keeping a steady job," Sam said, coming into the room properly, "Plus, it's a jolly exciting one."

Foyle smirked, "Even more so than the Police force?"

"Rather!" She ran her fingers through his thinning hair and planted a kiss on his cheek.

As she turned, he caught her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. His lips were at her throat, whispering upwards. "I'm sorry about yesterday, darling; I know I shouldn't keep things in."

"As long as you are all right," Sam said in reply, fingers intertwining with the small curls at his neck. "I was worried about you."

Foyle sighed into her hair, "I know. I wasn't being fair to you - you were on this case as much as I was."

"Nevermind." She kissed him again, this time on the lips. "Tell me about our trip to the seaside!"

Foyle gave her a half smile. "I can't stand London a moment longer, and I want to be with you, away from work and prying eyes."

"I like that idea," she whispered. She moved one hand inside the top of his shirt, the other undoing a button, "And there are no prying eyes here tonight...perhaps we can go over the..._intricacies_ of your seaside plan..."

"You've been typing too many files, dear girl," Foyle said with a short laugh. It was smothered by Sam's warm kiss, and he allowed himself to forget the recent weeks, sinking deeply into her lips.

****

Driving along the seafront, along familiar roads, Sam shivered pleasantly. This was where it had all begun, so many years ago. These roads, with this man beside her, during a war: how different everything felt now. Foyle touched her shoulder, his arm lazily draped across the back of the bench. She changed gear, then looked at him briefly, smiling and feeling slightly giddy. He felt it too - she could see it in his eyes.

The long sweep up to Foyle's house was overwhelming for Sam, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She felt at once that she was being silly, but it was as if she were _coming home_ after a long ordeal.

Foyle took her hand once she parked the car, and somehow reading her mind, said softly, "Welcome home."

Bounding up the steps, he opened the door, stepping over the piles of post that scattered as the door swung in. Inside it smelled musty and had a distinct un-lived-in feel. He set their suitcases down in the hall, and began opening windows in the sitting room and kitchen. Sam stared around at the house, suddenly seeing it again in a new light. She was going to live _here_, in this wonderful house, full of so many memories. No more knocking on the front door and waiting to be let in...

Foyle came up behind her suddenly, putting an arm around her waist. "It feels so right having you here with me," he said softly.

"It feels so safe and calm," Sam said, "Just like it did during the war. I feel so at home. It's all familiar."

She turned to him, "It's so wonderfully _you_."

Foyle laughed. "Such a Sam thing to say," he said, giving her a kiss.

"Well, it is," she insisted, smiling at him.

Foyle nodded. "What should we do first?"

Sam looked around again, "Well, if I were my mother I would say, _dust_, but thank goodness I have none of her sense."

She squeezed his hand, "I rather think I'd like to see where I'll be sleeping."

"As you wish," Foyle grinned at her, leading her up the stairs. On the landing, he paused, twitching his lip, "You remember Andrew's room, don't you?"

She gave him a friendly punch and he grinned again, "Or perhaps you would be more comfortable here?" He pushed open the door to his own room, leading her inside. In this room he and his late wife had slept, had conceived Andrew, and made many memories; he did not feel the pressure of those memories swooping in, however, just a joyous feeling of satisfaction that this room would somehow be complete once again.

Foyle let go of Sam's hand, letting her wander further into the room. She went to the window to look out, admiring the sea view. Then, seemingly satisfied with the view, the Victorian wardrobe, the washstand and side table, she sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly. She looked up at him. His knees felt as if they would buckle under such a look. It was one of utter love and happiness. He felt weak and buoyant at the same time. She held out a hand and he came to sit beside her.

"I can't wait to make our memories here, Christopher," she said, "I feel like after all we've been through, we've made it here - where we are supposed to be."

Foyle felt his throat constrict and he could only nod.

Sam touched his cheek, "When I walked through the front door just now it was like everything in the last six years was leading up to that moment."

With a catch in his voice, Foyle said, "I'm so glad, Sam. I love you ever so much. I can't wait to begin our life together - here in Hastings where it all began."

He kissed her tenderly and she too felt a lump grow in her throat.

"Who would have thought, all that time ago, when I came to first collect you with the Wolseley, that we would one day be here?" she said slowly with a smile, "Do you remember? I was looking at Rosalind's watercolours."

"Of course I remember. I felt quite...er...unnerved by having a lovely young woman show up at my door at 8.30 in the morning... and I wasn't ready yet, I seem to think, still doing up my tie?"

"Mmmm," Sam purred, "You cut a charming figure in your waistcoat."

Foyle chuckled, "Ah well...um, I suppose."

Sam leant back, propping herself up on her elbows, so that Foyle had to shift around to look at her. She could see how at ease he finally looked.

"It feels so wonderful to be back, Christopher, thank you for bringing us here."

"We deserved a break." He paused, "It hasn't been an easy time for you, and work has been non-stop."

Sam gave a non committal shrug, "Adam and I parted amicably, as you know, but yes, it was strange. I felt so horrid, even though it was the right thing to do. I'm just glad it is over and we can all move on."

Foyle lay down beside her, "I want to start moving on, right now, right here."

He cleared his throat, "Sam, I love you and I will never forget how lucky I am to have you."

"As do I. I love you, Christopher Foyle, and I want you to know how grateful I will always be to you. You saved my life in so many ways and have made it far better than I could have ever imagined."

"We saved each other, I think." Foyle paused before saying softly, "Sam, I want you beside me the rest of my life. I know you mustn't feel much like marriage again just now, but will you consider it?"

Sam gave him a cheeky smile, "It _would_ be the decent thing to do. Make an honest woman of me."

Foyle rolled his eyes before fixing them on her. "What do you think?"

Her face broke into a grin, "Of course, silly! I couldn't bear to be anywhere but with you. Though I don't think I'll ask Father to preside with this one... "

He pulled her to him, feeling her against him, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her curves and softness of skin. "My darling Sam..." his voice fell away as he began to kiss her. He felt as if every sense was on fire, and he wondered if his heart could burst from this feeling of love.

Outside the sea breeze was blowing hard; it blew through the sitting room and kitchen windows of Foyle's house, churning up the dust, then drifting up the stairs and into the bedroom where he was making passionate love to the young woman who had once stood on his doorstep. They breathed deeply of each other and the fresh wind, and the taste of the sea was left on their tongues. It was once more a happy home, bursting with life.


End file.
